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ust a bare moment after Tonar takes the bread, the area becomes silent. Absolutely silent. And then both bard and warrior see above them a ghostly firebird, which beats its wings once and then dissipates into a spray of sparks. A sere voice says from the evening's dark: "Lawful travelers, I have found, walk the roads like ordinary men and sleep near the roadside where there is protection. What this implies about those who do not follow such practices, I am sure you can deduce for yourselves." The voice speaks in Sorevvan-accented Chedraqis, and a tingling at the back of Caeric's mind tells him that the speaker has used some trifling magic to make his words louder, clearer. "Surely you would prefer to come sup with us? We are on our way to a garrison where, no doubt, *honest* travellers would be welcomed." Caeric rises, even as the voice calls to them, turning about, eyes wide in concentration as he strains to face the source of the words. 'Tis no accident though, that when he has turned about, now facing the sound (though still glancing about) he stands almost next to his dark horse. As the voice ends, his own cuts in, his now-open hands spreading wide to his side, his accent now different from the guise it wore before, still foreign, but most assuredly not the broken Chedraqis of a Shalvi's Blade. That it sings clearly through the night, though perhaps not so much as the voice from the darkness, cannot be said to be but the near-mystical work of training and practice, yet even so, it is phrased well in Chedraqis, the sounds rising and falling, a flowing of the tongue. "I'truth, Sir, though p'raps I speak poorly of it, I must argue the point. Lawful travelers, as it were, travel quietly, seeking no issue with any about, seeking no issue for any about, and most certainly seeking no issue from any about. That they may walk the less used paths, and sleep beneath the open sky, this speaks naught but for a love of His creation, a love less Common perhaps than most know, but--truth--I have yet to meet the Lord or priest who did call it crime to be so--not Common, and in my days upon my feet, the one epithet never so plainly hurled upon me was that of Common. Still. That we do not walk the road is little cause for concern, for we've no wish nor reason for trouble and we two can, I think, take care of ourselves. Still yet, you do us honor with your offer, and honored more we would be had we name to accept or refuse." [GM's note: This "phrasing" style is what Caeric has picked up of Chedraqis usage in Sorevv and a few scattered western lands. As a bard, he has noticed that this diction is considered formal in Sorevv, and suspects that in other regions it may be downright archaic.] Caeric falls silent, still glancing about, his face plain but for a carefully crafted smile that rests ever so lightly upon his lips. He still turns slightly, gaze always returning to the same spot, waiting for a response. Though the zealots walk almost silently--if indeed they walk like normal men--this time Caeric and Tonar hear the clear, almost contemptuous footsteps stirring fallen leaf and broken branch. The man who emerges before them is ascetically thin, and the heavy drapery of white robes and white, white tassels only emphasize the fact. "I know not from whence you come, traveller," the man says dryly, "but you must come from a far less trusting land than ours...and a far *wordier* one, at that. Perhaps you would enjoy the opportunity to exchange witticisms and paradoxes with our scholars." Caeric grins and murmurs something about name and nature, inclining his head deeply towards the white-robed man. "Perhaps." His bow to them is free of flourish. "I hight Daverris, a mere captain in the service of m'lady Magistra Liessira. And certes, she and those who serve her would be interested to hear the tale that two such as yourselves must bring." [GM's note: "Magister" is a Sorevvan church office given to mages of high rank.] Tonar shakes his head at this verbose response. He squints up at the spot where the illusion was, and calls out, "Sorcerer, the criminals have the road. What business have you with us?" Caeric slowly glances back at Tonar as the large man speaks, a pained expression flitting across his face at the poor choice of words.
Back: Caeric & Tonar's Prologue 1 Flame image provided by Clipart Castle.
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